“What did you give me?” Then realization came crashing down. “Wait a sec. I get it.”
“You do?”
“You want to make love to me, and think you have to drug me first. It’s cool, Doc. I swing both ways. It’ll be more fun when I’m awake.”
His smile dropped away. “I’m the one you’re looking for, you idiot.”
“I like you, Doc, but not in that way. Sex is as far as it will go. I don’t do well in committed relationships.”
“I’m Plastic.”
“Huh?”
That didn’t make any sense at all. How could my plastic surgeon be Plastic?
“Plastic? The crazy guy who is disfiguring people?”
“Yes.”
“But you’re the one who reached out to me and told me about Plastic. You’re the one who sent me to the victim forum online. You’re the one giving me the free Botox. Why would you do all of that?”
“I did it to stop your investigation.”
I tried to sit up, and immediately collapsed back into the chair.
“But I was going to endorse you,” I protested.
“You’re an idiot. I trick people all the time. You were the easiest. And you’re supposed to be a private investigator. You didn’t even know you were getting work done by the man you’re chasing.”
Damn. Good twist.
“I am definitely not endorsing you.”
“Sleep well, Harry. When you wake up, you’ll be at my house. I’m going to sew your asshole shut.”
“My asshole! That’s one of my favorite orifices!”
“You’ll have a stoma.”
“That’s… kinda cool.”
“I’m going to place the stoma up high on your abdomen. So your colostomy bag is close to your nose.”
“Not cool.”
I heard snoring, realized it was me, and then decided it was Hero Time.
I wasn’t going to let this son of a bitch take me down.
I was going to fight this drug, kick his ass, and haul him to the police station and get even more famous and richer and cheeseburgers and unicorn candy hamster belching and divebomb religious potatoes and oh shit this drug is strong and I’m about to fall asleeee…
FABLER
Fabler thought the security was good at his place back in Wichita, but this Harry McGlade guy had it down to a science.
Cameras. Motion detectors. Infrared. Foiled windows. Pressure sensors. Battery back-ups. Automatic police dialing.
If a mouse farted anywhere on his property, McGlade would be able to detect it three different ways.
Plus a panic room. The dude was prepared for a zombie apocalypse.
If he wasn’t so weird, I’d be impressed.
After his team checked the perimeter, unpacked, and changed into work clothes—black combat fatigues—he tracked down Jill, who was in the kitchen with the maid and two children. Jill was pacing back and forth, doing quick turns.
Trying to learn the exosuit. This one’s a fighter.
“Hey. I’m Fabler.”
He squatted down to kid-level, and the little girl came up and offered her hand. “I’m Sam. Very nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, too.”
The boy also held out his hand and said, “Borfa.”
“Harry Jr. doesn’t talk yet,” Sam explained.
Fabler shook the kid’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Harry Jr. You’ve got some chocolate on your face.”
He reached over with a thumb to wipe Harry Jr.’s mouth.
“He was eating Big Dick’s poop,” Sam said.
Fabler halted his motion, and Consuela came over with a napkin and wiped off the brown. “He does this all the time. The doctor said it won’t hurt him.”
Fabler didn’t say anything. He had a kid, and knew enough not to act parental around anyone else’s child.
Big Dick, the capybara, made an entrance and rubbed his snout against Fabler’s leg. Fabler gave the giant rodent a pat on the head.
Weird as hell.
But no weirder than my life.
“Are you a soldier?” Sam asked.
Fabler noticed that Jill was keeping an eye them.
“I used to be. So were Grim and Presley.”
“Girls are allowed in combat now.”
“I know.”
“I wanna be a soldier. Or a police officer, like Mom. Or a princess who can make snow.”
“All good choices.”
“Do you like the Gamemaster 2?”
“I’ve never played it.”
“It’s fun. Mom, can I have a hardboiled egg?”
“I have some in the fridge,” Consuela offered, “if it’s okay with your mother. Do you want an egg, Harry Jr.?”
“Fob,” the boy said.
“Thanks, Consuela.” Jill walked over to her daughter. “Do you need help peeling it?”
“God, Mom. I’m not a baby. You can walk good with that sexosuit.”
Jill smirked. “Exosuit. Thanks. Do you want to call Grandma?”
“After my egg.”
Consuela handed each of the children an egg. Sam began to peel hers, cracking it first on the table.
Harry Jr. ate his with the shell.
“The doctor said it’s okay,” Consuela said.
Fabler didn’t reply, but silently wondered on McGlade’s choice of doctors.
“Can I give you and your friends a quick briefing on what’s going on?” Jill said.
“Absolutely. I’ll go round them up.”
“Meet you in the great room. It’s the one with all the sofas.”
Fabler nodded, and began to wander through the mansion. He sidestepped a penguin—
Freaking weird.
—and went down a hall, listening to Presley and Grim in mid-conversation.
“But that capybara is so chill.”
“Sinatra is enough trouble. We don’t need another pet.”
“Brooklyn would love it. Look how good it is with kids.”
“Not open for discussion. And who would name a pet Big Dick?”
“It’s funny.”
“It’s rude.”
“That rude guy’s paying us a small fortune.”
“Incoming,” Fabler said, announcing himself before he overheard anything too personal. He stuck his head in the bedroom. “Jill wants a pow-wow.”
Presley said, “You know her name isn’t Jill, right? Harry called her Jackie.”
Fabler waited.
“I Googled McGlade during the trip, read a lot about him. That’s Jack Daniels. She’s famous. Used to be a Chicago Homicide Lieutenant, caught a lot of serial killers. She’s supposed to be dead.”
“I hope I’m that active when I’m dead,” Grim said.
“As far as we’re concerned, she’s dead. Did you read those non-disclosure agreements we signed?”
Grim nodded. “It’s like ten lawyers circle-jerked on the page.”
“Right. We stay focused. We keep quiet. We do the job. Understood?”
“If he makes us run around wearing wielding helmets, I’m out of here.”
Real funny. “Roger that, Presley. Let’s go see what we’re facing.”
What they were facing turned out to be not so bad. Fabler had been fearing the worst; a drug cartel or mobsters or some LA street gang seeking revenge. Instead, Jill (actually Jack) explained the enemy consisted of two people. A disfigured, disabled serial killer named Walter Cissick, who called himself Erinyes, and a plastic surgeon who hadn’t killed anyone, but was on some private mission to disfigure prom kings and queens, aka Plastic.
His team did well, staying silent, listening intently, until the prom thing came up.
“Were you a prom queen?” Grim asked Presley.
“No.”
“You’re totally prettier than any prom queen I’ve ever seen,” Grim fawned.
Unprofessional. Fabler shot him a reel it in look.
Presley shot him a I’ll snap your neck if you don’t shut up l
ook.
“So right now you’re waiting on calls?” Presley said, repeating what Jack had mentioned. “Deb is checking traffic cams for Tom and for Erinyes. Fleming—is that her name?”
“Like the author.”
“Fleming is hacking the Los Angeles library computers, trying to find someone who checked out yearbooks.”
“I haven’t gotten in touch with her yet, but that’s the goal.”
“And the cop in Chicago, Firoz, is analyzing the Erinyes videos. He knows it’s impossible to trace anything on the deep web, right?”
Jack nodded. “He’s trying to figure out the cameras and computer programs used. “
“I know computers. Maybe I can help.”
“We can call Firoz.”
“What I don’t understand,” said Grim, apparently snapping back into service mode, “is why your face is on one of the videos.”
Jack pressed her lips together. “I don’t understand it either. Might be a coincidence.”
No one said anything.
I guess I will.
“We know who you are,” Fabler told her. “We won’t tell anyone.”
Jack didn’t react.
“I don’t like coincidences, Jack. If your past is coming back to haunt you, my team needs to be prepared for that.”
Jack turned away. Fabler thought she was maybe avoiding it, which wasn’t what he expected. But then he realized she was just checking to see if the kids were around.
“I’ve made some enemies,” Jack told them. “One calls herself the Cowboy. She worked with some mobsters from Belarus, operating in the Great Plains. Heroin and white slavery. She has a thing against my family.”
“Your husband, Gil.”
“His real name is Phin.”
“Where’s Phin now?”
“Did you hear about the prison break at Cofferdale? That was Phin’s brother, a terrorist and murderer. Phin is in Chicago now, dealing with him. He abducted Phin’s ex-girlfriend, and he went to save her.”
A minute ago they were facing two crazies. Now the number could be four.
This woman has a black cloud over her. And I just brought my team directly under it.
“You have a complicated life, Jack.”
“My life attracts psychopaths like Type O attracts mosquitos.”
A short silence ensured. Grim broke it. “We should probably watch the videos.”
Jack nodded. “Not in here. I’ll set it up on Harry’s laptop.” She caught Presley’s eye. “I don’t know what any of you have seen, what any of you have been through. But I just want to warn you. It doesn’t get any uglier than this.”
They filed into an empty bedroom.
Jack pulled up the first video, turned down the sound to barely above a whisper, and abruptly turned away.
The sound was still too loud, every scream searing Fabler like he was the one being branded.
Presley lasted about a minute before she also turned away, at the part with the pliers.
Grim puked in a waste basket when the blowtorch entered the shot.
“I think we’ve seen enough.” Fabler shut the laptop. “That poor woman… she really looked like you, Jack.”
“Firoz called it a deepfake.”
“It’s the future of cyberwarfare,” Presley still faced the wall. “How good is your friend Firoz?”
“He’s good.”
“I have some ideas that might help narrow down the camera and software. But I don’t think I could do any of the work myself. I didn’t sign on for… this.”
“Understood,” Jack said.
Fabler also understood. He’d seen a snuff video before. A beheading, while on a tour in Iraq.
Incredibly, that wasn’t Fabler’s worst beheading memory.
I need to think about something else, fast, before I lapse into bad memories and become unprofessional.
“I don’t think we need to see anymore,” Grim mumbled into the garbage.
“And that’s not one of Cissick’s videos?” Fabler asked.
“Not according to Firoz. Cissick uploaded a bunch of VHS copies, and his latest didn’t have the same amount of pixels or aspect ratio or something. Plus, as far as I know, Cissick doesn’t know who I am. He’s fixated on Tom.”
Maybe it’s just a coincidence.
I don’t like coincidences.
They gnaw at me.
Jack’s phone rang. She glanced at it. “Tom’s former partner in Chicago Homicide.” She tapped the screen. “Roy, you’re on speakerphone with the mercs, Fabler, Grim, and Presley.”
“Is McGlade there? Tried his phone. No answer.”
“He said he had something private to do,” Jack said. “Didn’t mention what it was.”
“I just heard from Firoz. We think we know where Tom is.”
“Are the police on their way?”
“They don’t have enough for a warrant. Are you near a computer?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve got an onion address. Do you know how to get onto the deep web?”
“No.”
“I do.” Presley reached for the laptop. “I’ve got Firefox running Tor. What’s the URL?”
“3upe4pqw6pow6kufc4m.onion.”
Presley punched it in, and something ugly came up. “Usher House 2.0. It has a paywall. Does McGlade have an account?”
Jack said, “He copied the videos somehow.”
“Let’s see if he does what 90% of the world does and keeps a password file on his computer.” Presley did a quick search for the word password. “Found a text page, and got log-in info for UH2.” When the page came up, she winced and turned away.
Onscreen was a celebration of blood and pain. Fabler felt his stomach clench.
Grim shook his head. “Jesus H. Christ, what the hell is wrong with the world?”
“You need to search the site for Human Dog Channel,” Roy told Presley.
That sounds appropriately horrible.
Presley’s fingers danced over the keyboard. A jpeg of an empty doghouse filled the screen. “Got it. Subscription service. Plus they sell clips. Let me check if McGlade has a crypto wallet.” She typed away. “He has a few. Give me a minute.”
Did Presley do this kind of thing to my computer, when she was staying with me?
Of course she did. She’s a pro.
“Okay, I’m going live with it.” Presley clicked on the doghouse.
It remained just a doghouse, sitting in a garage, with a spotlight on it. One plastic bowl in front. Too dark to see the inside. Some banging sounds coming from within.
“Look at the clip called Washing the Dog,” Roy said.
Presley found the clip and activated it.
“That’s Tom.” Jack winced at the naked man on screen, getting hosed down. “Can we track this?”
Presley shook her head. “Untraceable. That’s the whole point of the onion router.”
“Firoz found a house address,” Roy said. “He told Tom about it, and Tom was going to contact the cops. But Tom got snatched. Could be Cissick, but it’s a tenuous connection. Cops won’t touch it without a warrant, no way a judge will sign a warrant. It all ties into anonymous names on a message board. We don’t even have reasonable suspicion.”
“We’re not cops,” Fabler said. “What’s the address?”
Roy read it off.
“How far is that from Harry’s house?”
Grim had a map on his phone. “Ten minutes. We can meet Roy on the corner of Nantucket and Warf.”
“Let’s gear up.”
His team flew into motion.
Jack did not.
“Holding down the fort?” Fabler asked.
She hesitated, then said, “I have to stay with the children.”
Presley patted her shoulder. “We’ll be in touch. Keep an eye on the video, contact us if anything happens.”
Fabler led Grim and Presley out to his Jeep, wrapping his brain around the task at hand as they put on their body armor.
This is what we came for.
This is what we do.
Time to earn our paychecks.
PLASTIC
Colossal pain-in-the-ass Harry McGlade, soon to be a literal pain-in-the-ass when Plastic gets done with him, is naked on his stomach in the operating room.
It’s not a pleasant view.
This man has a seriously hairy ass.
Strange hair, too.
Tight curls. Thick.
Almost like brown poodle fur.
Plastic has the unpleasant task of shaving McGlade before he begins.
He’s certainly not AP.
He’s not even aesthetically so-so.
I’m taking an unattractive man and making it worse.
That goes against much of what Plastic believes in. His goal is to even out the beauty in the world. Tone down the above-average. Elevate the below-average.
But this is taking the below-average down to hideous.
McGlade groaned.
“What’s happening? Did I give consent?”
“I gave you a paralytic. You won’t be able to move, but I want you to be aware while I’m doing this.”
“Kinky. Where am I?”
“My private operating room.”
“It’s nice. And who are you?”
“I’m Plastic, Mr. McGlade.”
“Plastic who?”
Even drugged groggy he’s obnoxious.
“Your plastic surgeon.”
“Dr. Schlimm? Why am I face down and ass up?”
“I’m sewing your ass shut.”
“I’m not paying extra for that.”
Maybe paralyzing him is a bad idea. I don’t need to hear him yak on and on while I work.
Plastic continues to shave. He has to switch to a new razor, and not even one butt cheek is done.
“What are you doing? I can’t feel anything.”
“I’m shaving your ass. Which is something you apparently have never done.”
“Some people like it.”
“They’re lying to you.”
“They call me Sinnabuns. With an S for sin. And buns for buns. I gotta run a timeshare on it, cuz no one can handle that ass fulltime.”
Plastic considers knocking him out again. Or at least taping his mouth shut.
“Can you shave my taint while you’re down there?”
This guy is unbelievable.
“How about I cut your balls off? Would you like that?”
“Probably not. Did you ever implant artificial testicles?”
Chaser Page 23